An Incomplete History of My Sexual Failures


Tuesday, January 29, 2008

An amazing development manifested itself at the Wilmington Scrabble club. A new player, young, blonde, and attractive enough, joined us for the evening. Her name... Summer. I kid you not. If this was not my soul mate, there doesn't exist one for me. By all rights, I should have been giving her private lessons by the end of the night, but regrettably she did not seem to take any notice of one of the few men in the world with the perfect analog of her name. As I write this, I have to ask myself if she was every really there at all, or if this is just another one of my fantasies that has bled into reality.

Friday, February 1, 2008

Left work late once again, and once again the reason was Joe Bihlmeyer and his pullups. He was continuing to make progress, up to 13, and I felt compelled to make progress of my own, up to four sets of almost 5-6 each. On top of a run, of course. The running was a given, and a priority, because if attacked by ninjas, running would be my only defense.

Seriously, I felt it was important to at least match Joe's progress. You can read all about his woman troubles on his blog (post more woman troubles, Joe!), but take it as a given that I cannot hope to be more successful than Joe if I cannot at least match him on pullups.

Famished as I was, I had a couple stops to make, first to Double Visions to see if a very special stripper was there. She was, but unfortunately so was the bouncer, which meant she was on her best behaviour. Well, not her best behaviour, if you take into account these silly things called rules. But still, she was not as accomodating as the last time. Grrr... stupid bouncers!

I left DV with just enough time to reach Bound Beverage before they closed at 9:00. This was important because I was down to less than 12 bottles of my precious exilir of life, Tradewinds tea. There have hardly been sadder moments in my life than those times I discovered I had run out of that most sweet of beverages. With my next two weekends busy with trips to Ohio and North Carolina, I needed to have a good supply stocked up.

Unfortunately, something had to give, and that was my usual Latin American dinner in Elizabeth. While it was theoretically possible that I could cover the 63 miles in 65 minutes, if I did not make it I would be forced to eat crap from whatever fast-food shithole was open. After running four-miles and working out my upper body, sleeping in my car in the cold would be mighty unpleasant. Besides needing fuel to build muscle, I also needed fuel to generate body heat.

Amefika's instead, and then I headed straight into Manhattan and downtown. I parked next to the Starucks on Front St, couple of blocks up from my usual spot so I could download some shows. For some reason that area next to the Starbucks was more well lit than usual, and there were too many people walking around. While I was changing, about to put on my thermal underwear, a pair of men walked around the corner and one of them looked in through my window. Pervert! Doesn't he know that you don't go around looking into people's cars???

I was too exposed to do my business in a cup, so I had to go off in search of a semi-private area. When I returned to the car, I noticed a man, truly homeless, right across the street from my car, making his own bed with blankets and cardboard. A kindred spirit!

Saturday, February 3, 2008

7:36, picked up a juice and coffee and headed across the Brooklyn Bridge and onto the BQE. At 8:16 Woody called, with not much time to spare. I was about a minute or two from the LIE, and about five away from the Utopia Parkway exit where I usually pick him up.

Woody soon arrived, and just as I had entered the ramp taking me back onto the LIE I spotted the Bagel Oasis to my right. The allure of trying out a new bagel place was irresistible, and I had to take the next exit and work my way back over to Utopia. I did not mind so much because the most direct route took me past the Starbucks in Fresh Meadows, and I needed a new photograph anyway. It never ceases to amaze me just how sucky some of my early photographs were. I shake my head in wondering what possessed me to frame the store like I had.

Anyway, Bagel Oasis boasted that it is Zagat-rated, but I found the sandwich merely okay.

Didn't matter though, because nothing, but nothing, could ruin the high that I was riding. The entire week had seen me riding a wave of excitement that culminated in the most excellent season premiere of Lost. The episode was so good that I was left with a warm glow that permeated all of Friday and into Saturday. Add to this my discovery that my new HDTV picked up the HD signal without having to obtain anything from Comcast or pay any extra, and my return to Planned Parenthood to discover that, as expected, I had once again cheated the bug and tested negative for HIV, and Thursday turned out to be a pretty damn good day.

Nothing, nothing, nothing could ruin my mood. After dropping off Woody and finding parking, I practically strutted from my car towards the Adria, rocking Nirvanas's "Scentless Apprentice". This is a good funeral song, appropriate because I fully intended to bury my opponents.

Unfortunately, Paul Avrin did not receive the memo explaining that he was supposed to lie down and die before my might. I played a solid game, just 24.8 equity points lost, but even this level of play was not enough to penetrate Paul's vicious outdrawing. Worst part about the game was I had to let his phony go. Though TATTOO is a common word, and TAtOOIN(G)* screamed phony, I had gotten bitten by alternate spellings before, and if I challenged at that point in the game I would lose for certain.

Annotated Game

I was still feeling my glow, however, and I went on to double-blank Shane Tourtellotte for a relatively easy win. On to Pullup Boy, where a rules situation came up early in the game. I made my play, did not draw, put my tiles down on the table, and went to get some water. When I returned, I saw that Joe had stopped the clock, while still on his turn. I waited for him to play and then called Ginger over. I explained that the rules did not allow Joe to stop the clock while it was his turn. He was effectively getting free time to think, even though he had turned his tiles down, to hide them from me. He excitedly claimed he was not thinking, a pronouncement that caused nearby Kevin McCarthy to burst out laughing.

Ginger seemed to side with my argument, but at the same time she wanted to reassure Joe that he would not run out of time. Ginger was right, and the issue turned out to be irrelevant, because Joe had five successive racks that scored well easily and quickly, OHO, JAU(P)ED, FOB, FAINT, ARGENT. I, meanwhile, made plays that while not egregiously bad, cost me dearly in the end game. Giving up the E with DEY was deadly was definitely the play that cost me the game. That game was the second against Joe in recent memory in which my lack of vowels left me impotent in the end game. I might have to add Vowel Boy to Joe's growing list of nicknames. There's also Banana Boy, since he seems to carry around an ample supply, but I think most people do the same. I think I read that most women carry two or three bananas in their purses in case of a power outage.

At least I got any phony down, A(M)BONE*, but I doubt that will help. Any Scrabble cuties out there who were basing their decision on whether to talk to me on my record against Bihlmeyer have probably been turned off by my squandering those two blanks. Women can forgive many things, but squandering blanks is like losing the mortgage money at the card tables.

Annotated Game

Just like against Bihlmeyer, I managed an early double-blank bingo against Pjolsky. Only this time my post-bingo tiles did not disappoint (perhaps because I only gave up 19.1 equity points), and I cruised.

During lunch a lower-division player kept asking me what I would play on each of her opening racks, completely oblivious to the fact that I was trying to eat and simulate my own games, and that I rather plainly had zero interest in simming her racks too. Come on, people--Quackle is free, and laptops are practically free.

Verna was first up after lunch, and she was at zero wins and doubtlessly hungry for a victory. As I expected, she did draw both blanks. I was unable to close up the board, and it was only the fact that her final rack held two Is and a U that kept her from a game-winning bingo.

My relief was short-lived, however. Steve Tier had been dominating, and I fully expected to take first from him. He had stopped my 3-0 run at the last Bayside, and I owed him for that. With a blank on my first rack I bingoed early with (I)NcUbATE, my third double-blank bingo in the tournament). I followed this by challenging off ANA(E)ROID* (a five-vowel 8, dude!) and playing OX for 35, and I felt really confident. But I misplayed my tiles over and over, while Steve went on a fiendish scoring run. Had he not caught up to me, I would not have risked opening up the board with (A)MBO, and he would not have gotten L(O)PPERED. Chances for a win looked remote if the bingo stayed, so I challenged and ended up losing by 99.

The tournament had gone from disappointing to horrible to disastrous, and all of a sudden the high that had seemed impenetrable was fast crumbling. Steve handed me a harsh reminder that all is pain, and joy is an illusion.

After two losses to Steve in a row, I couldn't help but deal out an unkind epithet, Tier the Queer. I had no idea if Steve was gay, of course. I have no gaydar. And even if he was, I wouldn't call him Tier the Queer intentionally. Unfortunately, I am cursed with a human mind that is susceptible to suggestion, and the constant stream of references to this or that being "so gay" has infected my consciousness. There was a recent report on NPR about how the use of "so gay" is prevalent among the youth. I don't use the term, but I have to consciously make an effort because it is so widespread. I blame the kids who are using the term, but I also blame the homosexuals themselves, just as I blame an oppressed minority for allowing itself to be oppressed. Just as I dream of the day when the poor will realize that they can lift themselves out of poverty by controlling their population, I live in hope that other minorities like homosexual will realize that they also need to take drastic measures. Measures of a different sort, however--the extermination of the prejudiced. While the percentage of homosexuals in the general population is nowhere near the 80% that our Scrabble community enjoys, I imagine that there are still enough that if every one targeted 100 prejudiced individuals for extermination, and then on a very special night executed the plan, the ranks of the prejudiced could be decimated.

This is of course just a small-scale version of a general plan for catapulting our society out of the middle ages by cleaning it of corrupting elements. While some of the sociopaths among us, like Dick Cheney and his ilk, operate in the shadows, I am certain that concerned investigators are constantly gathering information of those people who are corrupt in government, corrupt in business, corrupt in community, etc. If such a list of people were to be available to a group of revolutionaries of reasonable size and high motivation, I am confident that such a group could kill thousands, maybe tens of thousands, in a matter of days. What would happen, I wonder, if the worst elements of our society just up and died one night?

Of course neither of these scenarios are not likely to happen. And really, it is the place of the government, more than anything else it is doing, to eliminate prejudice from the population. Fuck the war on terrorism. Terrorism will never come close to causing the amount of suffering and conflict that results from prejudice. The government should bring home the troops alright... and put them to work purging the population of anybody who is tainted by prejudice.

Prejudice persists, however hopeful I might be, and the words that stem from prejudice pervade the culture. In the same way that "so gay" taints my mind, my stream of consciousness is peppered with "nigga please", "my nigga", "nigga you trippin'", "nigga this", "nigga that", and all around "nigga nigga nigga". Thankfully, my complexion and hair make it clear that there is African blood in my ancestry, thus I claim the right to use the word "nigga", if not the word "queer".

I also have a mind that likes to rhyme, so the sound of "Tier" triggers the sound of "queer" as easily as "trigga" triggers "nigga". I can stop myself from articulating these thoughts out loud, but I cannot seem to erase them from my mind. For that matter, I am not even convinced that there is any negative social consequence to having certain thoughts provided that one's actions are not socially destructive. If thoughts were harmful prima facie, then I would be doing great harm every single time I see a nubile young woman.

Infectious memes aside, I don't know a single thing about Steve Tier, including his sexual preference, with the one exception of the fact, revealed during lunch, that he has a web site. The topic came up during lunch around the same time that Pjolsky, recently naturalized a citizen of Sweden, was complaining about how the NSA would not put ad, or a blurb, or whatever, about his picture book in the newsletter. The general consensus was that this was absurd, that it's not like there is so much riveting Scrabble News every much that there just isn't space to let players know about a cute little book that might interest them. Yet another area in which the NSA is out of touch with the needs of the community. It's a small community. We need to support each other. If one Scrabble puts out a Scrabble or word-related product, it should be a no-brainer that the NSA would want to let the rest of the community know. To play devil's advocate, however, Phil should definitely have created a website for his book, to which I would have linked.

Anyway, getting back to the salient topic, sexual preference, I figure that there's a good shot that Tier is gay anyway, given that 80% of tournament Scrabble players are homosexual. This will probably come as a surprise to most players, and the reason is that the study that reveals this fact was suppressed. A while back, around the time that the so-called "gay gene" was found, a group of researchers created a study to investigate links between homosexuality and various abilities. They found that the skill set required to play competitive Scrabble correlated highly with the genetic markers for homosexuality, and they extrapolated from this that 80% of tournament Scrabble players are gay. As you might expect, Hasbro feared that this finding would negatively affect sales, and they moved quickly to suppress the study. You can fully expect that if you contact Hasbro about this, they will deny all knowledge.

Anyway, I might have digressed a bit there. To summarize my point--it's okay to rhyme, but avoid deriding others with prejudiced epithets.

What's next, then? Ah, yes, the game that should have pushed my tournament over the edge and into the territory of cataclysm. Marjorie Schoneboom had the goods. I played a decent game, but she had the S and the blank at the end. It was a win for her, but she did not see her winning out sequence. I myself missed the RITZ to go out after she created a hook with her play, but the other play I had found won anyway. After the game I moved around the tiles to see if we could find a win for Marje, but she seemed not too interested.

Besides the win, that game produced my one shining moment of the tournament, EPHORAT(E). The only reason I even knew the word was because I had recently changed my LeXpert quiz settings from simple anagrams to anagrams with hooks, and I wholeheartedly agree that hooks are important. I won't go as far as the CGPer who posted that one should never learn a word without learning its hooks, for the simple reason that there are only 24 hours in the day. But hooks are important, yes.

So I ended up 4-3, and not even in second place in part because I had dropped so much spread by challenging Steve. As far a sexual analogies go, my performance was decidely limp. And so I limped away, dropped Woody off, and went off in search for the meat that almost never disappoints, Colombian food.

My poor record left me drained of energy, and I once again failed to muster the energy to see The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, and I called it an early night instead. My dreams were often a refuge from my failures.

Sunday, February 3, 2008

But even dreamland isn't always, well... dreamy. My Scrabble failure manifested itself as a dream about an attractive young redhead. The scene was an apartment. Either a party or just hanging out, over many nights I think. During my time there I noticed that this woman was very flirtatious and would been seen going off with most of the guys that went in and out of the apartment. All of the guys except... you know who.

I'm pretty sure we made eye contact a time or two--that was the tease. The dream was a perfect example of how women are just like Scrabble. They tease and they tease and they tease, but they rarely deliver.

Transition back into the "real" world, take a look at this annoying little bitch. You can plainly see that she's not that good-looking, at least not based on the photo she posted. But we double-matched, and I myself am not in a position to be so choosy, so I sent her a message. I think she replied that yes, she did like independent films, so I suggested meeting at the Ritz in Philly to see some film. I never heard back. Now I realize that I think differently than most people, but is suggesting a movie meeting so egregious a faux pas that it does not even merit a response? I think not.

That initial sequence of messages occurred months ago, close to half a year maybe. Flash foward to the present, and all of a sudden "Ana" decides to "poke" me. This is a new feature of HotOrNot. There is no message attached, just a virtual "poke". So the question is, why do bitches act like this? If she wants to meet and get to know me better, great. If not, that's fine too, so why doesn't she just fuck off?

Fortunately for me, and more than more men, I am able to clearly see the truth of things, that women always exact a price for their company. The price might be several hours wasted in a bar. The price might be listening to conversation that is wholly uninteresting. The price might even be putting up with abuse. At a minimum, most of the time the price involves compromising one's integrity. Women claim to want honest men, yet they are extremely unforgiving when men do tell the truth. They prefer to fool themselves and take up with men who merely claim to tell the truth.

On the flip side, professionals know their customers are lying, and the men they are with know the women are lying (unless they are complete idiots). All things considered, monetary compensation is a must less expensive way of obtaining a woman's company. Regrettably, even paying for company is easier said than done, thanks to the scourge of the Internet, spam. If you are not a prude, and not at work, and not married to a woman who monitors your Internet usage, take a look at this site. I've no idea how one could get a measurement, but I am certain that over 90%, maybe over 95% of the posts are evil spam. While I am not too wary to fall for spam, the sheer flood of it means that I often run out of time, or reach my threshold of boredom, before I ever find a real posting. And so I usually log off frustrated and homicidal, wanting to beat the brains out of each and every spammer on the planet. And to sodomize a few with a blunt object. I routinely fantasize about the tortures I'd like to inflict on spammers. Fire ants in their eyes. Nuts in a blender, then force fed. Skull smashed with bricks. A bullet to the back of the head, if I'm feeling merciful. I may very well hate spam even more than I hate magic.

So much difficulty in finding companionship for me, while other guys have it thrust at them and squander their opportunities. Take this guy I know, with the goofy name of Landry Clark. He finds himself a girl that I would love to date, Jean. She's beautiful, intelligent, quirky, and has cool interests like old movies. Of all the girlfriends I've had, I've never managed to date a woman as appealing as Jean. I always get the girls who are too homely, or too fat, or too insecure, or not intelligent enough, or boring, or too angry, or suffering from emotional issues. They all have problems? Where are the women without problems? All I want is a woman who is problem-free, like me. Is that so much to ask?

Anyway, she practically throws herself at Landry, and what does he do? He dumps her for the girl with the model looks. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The girls who look like models are never worth the price. I'm sure even Tom Brady has to take a lot of shit to maintain his relationship. Anyway, it frustrates me that the guys who dream girls like crap always seem to have them coming back for more. When it comes to romance, nice guys really do finish last.

It sometimes seems like it would be easier if I were attracted to men instead, or in addition to. Regrettably, I am not wired that way. I know this. I've had my experiments, and I felt no attraction whatsoever. Even in the case of the few male players who I could see myself being attracted to, if I were attracted to me, my imagination cannot get past a certain point. I visualize myself being sexual with certain men, because I am a hypersexual person. But when it comes to something really intimate like kissing, my reaction, even mental, is, if not quite revulsion, certainly distaste. I don't think I could stand to be a kissed by a man in the same way that I don't think I could eat a bug. Plenty of people eat bugs. There's nothing wrong with eating bugs. But I just can't see myself doing it. And that's too bad. Bugs have protein, and being attracted to men would essentially double my chances. In a way, my strict heterosexuality is itself a form of failure.


Feel free to comment, but please use your NSA name. Comments without names might be deleted.

Jim Cowling All women are insane and all men are children. Once I had that epiphany, getting some got a lot more regular. And consider checking out It works for me.
Rob I enjoy your blog posts too Winter-and your excellent DVD


#1 - Avrin    
0 (L)OUIE  
9.7 PYA G(E)Y (5 fewer pts to leave AEPRS)
9.6 WO(N)KY  
4.1 DIARY ARIDL(Y) (unsure),ROIL(Y) (wanted to keep O for (BIT) hook)
0 REFL(U)X  
0.5 (K)OJI  
0.9* E(T)UI  
0 FROW  
#2 - Tourtellotte    
3.6 DEFT  
1.6 STEaMER  
0 WOT  
13.8 GEE  
19.4 (N)UB  
0 VI(RE)O  
1.8 YO  
2.1 DOW  
0 CO(N)IC  
#3 - Bihlmeyer    
1.7 MOLE  
0 R(H)EUMY  
0 A(M)BONE*  
7.6 PEELS PEG (give up 13 pts to keep EELS too risky on tight board)
1.6 KEG KADI too risky if Joe has S!
9.7 DEY the losing play--should have kept the E
17.7 TIC weak weak weak
6.3 TA  
23 XU  
0 (FE)R(N)S  
#4 - Polsky    
1 sEL(E)CTEd  
0.4 FUM(E)T  
10.9 BRUT  
0 (W)AVY  
0 (S)HOJI  
2.8 KOI(N)E  
0 HOS  
0* AR  
0* A(R)TIER  
0 FL(O)G  
#5 - Berg    
0 EF  
0.6 DEV  
0 (V)AUNT  
2.7 THO  
0 REBS  
0* CLIN(E)  
0 EX  
0.5 (D)JIN  
8.5 OP OW (P better than W for endgame)
3 TWO  
#6 - Tier    
3.5 MIG  
0 VERIT(E)  
7.7 BA(I)TH  
0 JOKE  
0 (A)MBO  
31.8 lose challenge (L(O)PPERED)  
11.3 RA(J)  
25 C(A)L(L)  
27 lose challenge (LO(S)SY)  
0 UREA  
#7 - Schoneboom    
6.3 MOON  
2.1 K(N)AP K(N)OP
0 JUTE  
2.9 (D)OAT  
6 W(O)G  
18.7 O(W)L weak block
0 ECU  
18 ZIR(AM) miss newly created hook for RITZ
0 UT  

1 - L - 2.3 (24.8)
2 - W - 6.2 (80.5)
3 - L - 6.0 (72)
4 - W - 1.5 (19.1)
5 - W - 4.5 (62.8)
6 - L - 10.8 (150.8)
7 - W - 5.2 (67.1)

Avg: 5.2

More Confessional